


Circumstances

by Iverna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bed-sharing, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, but not the way you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 00:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21467428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/pseuds/Iverna
Summary: Yet another post-Neverland season 3 AU. Killian, Emma, and her parents are travelling through the Enchanted Forest and need to spend the night in an inn. An inn with a limited amount of rooms. And beds.It's going to be a long night.(The bed-sharing trope... with a little twist.)
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 32
Kudos: 224





	Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [profdanglais](https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/gifts).

Emma looks surreptitiously around the tavern while she waits for her mother to talk to the innkeeper. It’s a little rustic, but cozy; pipe smoke hangs under the rafters, and the smell of food and beer hangs in the air, making her stomach growl.

Snow makes her way back past a pair of rough-looking men, one pulling his companion out of her way as she approaches. “Good news,” she announces brightly. “They’ve got a room. We can stay here tonight.”

Emma’s first impulse is relief—she really wasn’t looking forward to another night of roughing it, especially since it’s gotten colder today—but then her mother’s words register. “A room?” she echoes.

“Yes. I know, it’s not ideal, but we’ll make do.”

Emma opens her mouth, but she’s not sure what she wants to say. She just knows that the prospect of sharing a room with her parents and Killian Jones is settling into her stomach like a whole swarm of butterflies.

“Needs must, I suppose,” Killian says. Emma chances a look at him. His expression doesn’t give anything away; no hint of a smirk, no suggestive lift to his lips, no wink at her. He doesn’t look the least bit bothered.

Her insides, on the other hand, are in turmoil.

It gets worse when she sees the room and realises that there are only two beds.

When she looks at Killian that time, there’s a definite twitch in his jaw. He glances at her, and she looks away, trying to look like she was just giving the room and everyone in it a once-over.

“Well, that’ll be cozy,” David comments with a sigh.

Snow pats his arm. “It’s only for one night.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Killian clears his throat. “I can stay in the stable...”

He doesn’t sound happy about the offer. Emma can’t blame him; they’ve just come from the stable, so she knows it’s cold and smells like—well, like a lot of horses live in there—and there are rats.

“No,” Snow says firmly. “With the Wicked Witch and her army out there? We stay together. All of us.”

Killian presses his lips together, slides another look at Emma, as if trying to gauge her reaction.

And she knows, in that moment, that he’d do it. He’d sleep out there, if it made her uncomfortable to share a room with him.

Which is ridiculous. It makes her a lot of things, but she wouldn’t describe any of those feelings as _uncomfortable_.

“Right,” Emma says, as if she doesn’t notice his look. “Anyway, it’s too cold out there.”

That’s the end of that—at least, as far as the discussion is concerned.

Dinner is served in the tavern below. It’s the first proper hot meal Emma has had in two days, and it’s good, but she barely tastes it. She’s too distracted by Killian across the table from her, leaning back as he makes a comment to her mother, flirting casually with the barmaid, provoking her father, smiling at her.<strike></strike>

That, and her mind keeps skipping ahead to later, and that stirs up the butterflies again.

Because there are only two beds. And her parents will share one, surely. Which leaves her with Killian. Which is both thrilling and terrifying.<strike></strike>

She’s given up on pretending that she doesn’t like him, at least to herself. She likes him. He likes her—more than he should, really, given how she’s treated him, and more than she knows how to handle.

It’s just that these days, she kind of wants to learn how to handle it. She just can’t seem to get around to communicating that to him. It doesn’t help that they’re constantly surrounded by other people, or getting attacked by Zelena’s army, or in all kinds of other ridiculous situations that don’t really lend themselves to telling him that she likes him, even if she could figure out how.

Or work up the courage.

And then he keeps making stupid comments and winking at her like it’s all just a big joke, and she knows that it isn’t, but it still feels like any admission would mean losing.

But if they _have_ to share a bed... well, there’s nothing she can do about it. The prospect of being that close to him has her mind and her heart in turmoil, but if she’s to be honest—and she’s been trying to get better about that lately—she doesn’t hate it.

As it turns out, though, she needn’t have worried.

“Did they give us any spare blankets?” Killian asks Snow as they climb the stairs back to the room. “For the floor?”

She looks at him with something like alarm. “You’re not sleeping on that floor.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Considering there are four of us and two beds, I think I am.”

“There’s no space,” Snow says reasonably as she pushes the door open. She has a point. There’s barely room to stand between the two beds. Killian is not a big man, but Emma doesn’t see how he’d fit without everyone stepping on him. “Besides, it’s freezing.”

Killian slides a look at Emma, quickly glances away again. “I’ll be fine.”

“Stop,” David says with a sigh. “No one’s sleeping on the floor. You can share with me, the ladies can take the other bed.”

Emma feels her heart somehow leap and sink at the same time. _Oh._

She hadn’t thought of that.

Killian, meanwhile, smirks at David. “Promise you won’t get handsy?”

David just rolls his eyes.

Luckily, there are no pyjamas or anything of the sort to change into. Getting ready for bed is just a matter of slipping off her boots and pants and tunic; her shirt is long enough to double as a night shirt.

David still offers to leave the room, to let her and Snow get ready first.

“Why?” Emma asks, determined not to let this get all awkward. “You’re my dad, I think it’s okay if you see me without shoes on.”

“I was more thinking of him.” David jerks his thumb at Killian.

“I doubt he’ll see anything he hasn’t seen before,” Emma says wryly, before she realises how_ that_ sounds. “I mean... in general. You know. With... at some point.”

Killian looks a bit taken aback, but then he laughs. “I _have_ in fact seen a woman without shoes on, aye, but I’ll leave the room if it makes you more comfortable.”

Emma just rolls her eyes and demonstratively begins stripping off her tunic, seized by a bizarre rush of defiance. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything. Her father needs to stop reading things into things that aren’t there.

It’s not like they’re sharing a bed.

She rethinks her attitude when Killian, without further ado, sheds his coat, and sword belt, and vest, and pushes his suspenders off his shoulders.

The tiny room is too full with four people, all moving around and getting ready for bed. Emma shimmies out of her pants and tries very hard not to notice Killian doing likewise only a few feet away.

He catches her looking as he’s tossing his pants onto the floor. His legs are pale but covered in the same dark hair that adorns his chest. His black shirt is long enough to cover anything interesting—not that she’s interested, or rather, she is, but_ that_ isn’t why, and it’s not the point—but the sight of him like that is bad enough.

Her mouth is dry, and she realises too late that he’s looking at her.

He winks.

She glares at him and turns away, and hears his soft laugh.

It gets worse when they’ve all said their goodnights, and silence has settled over the room. Emma is lying on her back, eyes shut, trying to summon sleep that won’t come. She can hear her mother’s soft breathing beside her, and that of the two men across the tiny divide.

Less than three feet separate her from Killian Jones, and she might just lose her mind.<strike></strike>

If they were sharing a bed, she could turn her back to him. He could make his suggestive comment, she could elbow him by accident, they could laugh about it shush each other lest David hear and get annoyed, and that would be the end of it.

Instead, she’s lying here knowing he’s less than three feet away from her, but out of reach, probably thinking about that dumb suggestive comment that he didn’t get to make, and it’s all so much worse.

She might have expected the sight of him in just a shirt to stick in her mind, but that’s not what her mind keeps circling back to. No, it’s the way he offered to sleep elsewhere. Doing what he always does: putting her first, thinking of her comfort, being a gentleman even while flirting and winking and riling her up. Because when it comes down to it, he cares.

She can’t help wondering what it’d be like if he was lying beside her now. There’s a good chance she’d end up rolling over, into him—she isn’t a very still sleeper. She wonders if he is. Maybe _he’d _roll over, or scoot closer. Wrap an arm around her. Maybe she’d wake in his arms, or pressed up against him...

There’s a deep inhale from the bed across the way, followed by a soft sigh. Killian. Just as awake as she is, from the sounds of it.

She turns her head and chances a look over at him.

He’s lying on his back, too, a dark blur against the white sheets. She can’t tell whether his eyes are open or not, or where he’s looking, but that means _he_ can’t tell where _she’s_ looking, so it’s safe.

If she reached out, and he reached out, she could touch him. Curl her hand around his hook.

But she can’t. She hasn’t asked for that. He’d say yes, but she has to ask. And she doesn’t know how.

This would all be a lot easier if she knew how. If them sharing a bed wasn’t a matter of coincidence, but of course.

She closes her eyes again. Snow’s breathing has become slow and even, and Emma knows that she’s fast asleep already. Across the room, David makes the kind of soft grunt he’d never make while awake.

Killian is silent. Too silent. She’s not used to him being so quiet.

She’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be so quiet if he knew she was awake, too. If he was here. Closer. Close enough to whisper to her, tease her, rile her up like he always does.

She presses her lips together and crosses her arms under the covers, trying to chase away the thoughts.

It’s pathetic, really, hoping for circumstances to push her at him. Pretending she doesn’t want them to and secretly thrilled at the prospect. She gives him shit for his ego, but hers is just as bad, isn’t it? It’s all just down to pride.

Okay, and fear, but she’s mostly over that. She _knows_ he’s not going to leave. More importantly, she knows she’d be okay if he did. She’s not a lonely helpless seventeen-year-old kid anymore.<strike></strike>

It takes a long time before she hears Killian’s breathing grow a little louder, like he’s no longer trying to be quiet. Slower, and steadier. Emma lies there and listens, feeling a little resentment rise up at the fact that he doesn’t snore. Surely he should snore. There should be _something_ about him that’s annoying.

There used to be a lot of things about him that were annoying. She seems to have forgotten them all.

She listens to him breathing, soft and slow and reassuring, until she drifts off herself.

Morning comes too soon, too bright and too loud and too much in every way. Emma groans as she comes awake, flinging an arm over her face.

There’s a soft laugh to her left. “Oh, she’s awake.”

She tries to blink her eyes open. The room is too bright to allow it, and she presses a hand over her face, trying to peer through her fingers.

Snow is half-sitting up in bed, smiling at her. “Morning, Emma.”<strike></strike>

Emma just groans again, then regrets it immediately as she remembers where she is—and with whom. She’s shared a camp with Killian often enough that he knows what a mess she is in the mornings, but still.

Beside her, Snow is already pulling on her clothes, and Emma resigns herself to her fate and forces her eyes open properly.

Killian is sitting up, running a hand through his hair. It’s a mess, but it looks good like that, tousled and wild like it’s waiting for her to run her hands through it. Her own has to be an unholy mess too, though she doubts it works for her like it does for him.

He retrieves his pants from the floor and swings his legs out of bed to pull them on, and Emma looks away and struggles up into a sitting position. Strands of her hair fall into her face, and she swipes at them hurriedly, trying to tame them a little. It’s enough to tell her that she’s fighting a losing battle. She dreads to think what she looks like. A puffy-eyed, wild-haired mess, probably. She needs a comb, and preferably a mirror, and she needs Killian to stop looking at her.

To that end, she looks back at him, challenging. “What?”

To her surprise, his gaze flicks away, down, before coming back to her. He’s not grinning at her. He’s smiling, a soft smile, one that sneaks in right next to her heart and gives it a little jolt. “Did you sleep all right?”

“No,” she says, putting an extra dose of grouchiness into her voice to distract from... everything else. “What time is it, anyway?”

“A few hours after dawn, I’d guess,” Killian says.

“Nearly nine,” David says. He’s slid out of bed already, and he’s almost dressed, buckling his belt into place. “You okay?”

“Eh,” Emma says, making a face. “Sure. Yeah.”

Killian gets to his feet and begins tugging his clothes into place. Emma turns to look for her own, watching from the corner of her eye, fascinated by the way he laces up his pants and tugs the suspenders into place and tucks his shirt into his pants with quick, practiced motions.

“Did I keep you awake?” Snow asks, sounding worried.

Emma turns to her. “What? No. No, it was—fine, just... the bed. I don’t know. I uh. Couldn’t get comfortable.”

Her mother frowns. “You should’ve said something. I thought it was fine.”

“The beds in these places are always rather terrible,” Killian says. “I didn’t sleep much either.”

Now that he mentions it, Emma thinks he does look a little tired, the darkness around his eyes a little more pronounced. He lay awake almost as long as she did, after all.

She wonders if it was for the same reason, and once that thought occurs to her, she can’t help hoping for it. It’d be nice if it wasn’t just her. If he wants the same thing.

If she’s honest—and it’s hard, but she’s trying—she knows that he does.

“I thought it was fine,” David says, throwing Killian a challenging look.

“That’s because you shared it with me,” Killian returns at once, smirking at him.

David heaves an exasperated sigh, trying not to look amused. “Sure. _That_ was why.”

The words come to Emma in a flash, and she says them before she can think better of it. “Huh. Maybe that’s what I was missing.”

She has the rare pleasure of seeing Killian look genuinely surprised. Then he laughs, and ducks his head like he’s pleased and embarrassed and happy, and shoots her another look through those dark eyelashes, and grins.

“Aye, perhaps it was. I’d be happy to oblige if you want to try it out sometime.”

She grins back. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Snow scoots around Emma and off the bed, straightening her clothes as she gets up. “I’m going downstairs to see about breakfast. David?”

She’s holding out her hand. David glances back at Killian, then at Emma, then blows out a breath and says, “Yeah.”

They leave the room, and there’s a short, kind of stunned silence.

Emma breaks it. “Is there a... a mirror, or a comb, or anything?”

“No mirror, I’m afraid,” Killian says, and flashes a crooked smile. “But you look ravishing.”

She takes it as a joke, and laughs, making a face. “Right. Sure.”

“I’m being quite serious.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I _know_ my hair’s a mess.”

He considers that, tilting his head. “Well, I think the most apt term is rat’s nest, but...”

“Hey.” She reaches across the gap between their beds, but she can’t reach his arm, so she swats at his knee instead.

“... but,” he goes on, purposely, “it suits you.”

She keeps her eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“You look gorgeous no matter what,” he says easily, like it costs him nothing to say it. “_That’s_ simply the truth.”

Emma tries to hide the blush that wants to creep over her face by pulling on her tunic. By the time she’s dressed and on her feet, he’s fussing with his own hair, scowling as he tries to catch a particularly rebellious strand and figure out where it belongs.

“That’s not—you’re—” Emma shakes her head, laughing as he tries again.

“What?”

“Here.” She gestures for him to duck his head so she can reach. He obliges, face scrunched up in a way she tries hard not to find adorable as she brushes her fingers through his hair, trying to make it lie like it should.

“More to your liking?” he asks when she’s finished.

She tamps down the urge to roll her eyes and gives him a critical once-over instead. “Yep.”

He laughs again, surprised, blue eyes sparking at her. “Thank you.”

She got it backwards, before. Nothing about this means losing. It’s not a fight, or a contest. They both win, or they both lose. Together.

Her stomach growls. “Let’s go get some breakfast, yeah?”

“Aye.” He turns away, pausing as he takes in the sight of David’s pack and Snow’s cloak still lying in a corner. He lets out a breath. “We ought to take all of that with us.”

“I was thinking that,” Emma says, frowning. “This doesn’t seem like the kind of place where you just leave your stuff lying around.”

“Definitely not,” Killian agrees, with a wry look. “Your parents are very trusting.”

“Yeah, they kinda overdo the whole goodwill thing sometimes.”

“Ah well.” He shrugs, smirking again. “That’s why I’m here.”

It’s one of those throwaway comments that masks something deeper. He does that a lot, she’s come to notice, hiding his insecurities and worries behind jokes and quips and flirting.

“Nah, that’s not why you’re here,” she says softly. “That’s just a bonus.”

He swallows. He’s standing very close to her; the room really is tiny. If she hadn’t just woken up, and didn’t feel so gross after a week on the road, she’d be tempted to just sway into him.

“Everything all right, love?” he asks after a moment.

And she knows it’s not the time—it never is, but definitely not _now_, and she still doesn’t know what to say anyway—so she just nods. “Yeah. Just trying to... I’m just saying.”

They look at each other for a moment, and then Killian smiles again, a small, tender thing.

“Come on,” he says, pulling the door open and standing by it to let her pass. “Before your father comes storming up here to remove another part of my anatomy.”

Emma grins as she steps past him. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

His hand comes to rest on her back as she moves through the door, lingering for a moment. “I appreciate that, love.”

Emma turns back to him as they head down the hallway together. “He’s not actually—he’s just trying to do the dad thing, you know. He doesn’t really disapprove or whatever.”

She swears that Killian looks relieved, like she’s confirming something he wanted to believe, but he’s Killian, so he doesn’t let on for long. “Don’t let him hear you say that. I’m trying to be suitably scared.”

She rolls her eyes and nudges his arm with her shoulder as they walk. He nudges her right back, then reaches an arm around her to prevent her from stumbling into the wall. By the time they make it down the stairs, they’re both laughing, and Emma knows that something just shifted between them, and she’s not sure yet what it is, but it feels right. Good. Safe.

They reach the castle that night, and it’s with relief that Emma falls into her own bed, alone.

It’s another few days before she plucks up the courage to give circumstances a little push of her own, and shows up at Killian’s door.

(He doesn’t say _yes_. He says _hell yes_, and a little while later, so does she. Loudly.)


End file.
